But the modest manwalks on the earth with histhought drawn toward sky.

What good is the pulse of man's fleshand its favorswhen the mind is in pain?

And the friends who fray me,their fine physiquesand slender thinking, thinking it's ease or gain that drives me, pitching from place to place, my hair wild, my eyescharcoaled with night -- and not a one speaks wisely,their souls blunted, or blurred,goat-footed thinkers.

Should someone unguilty hold back fromlonging toward heights like the moon? Should he wait, weaving its light across himlike a man stretching taut his tent skin,until he acts and they hear of his action, as he adds and then adds like the seato his fame?

By God and God's faithful --and I keep my oaths -- I'll climb cliffsand descend to the innermost pit, and sew the edge of desert to desert,and split the sea and every gorge, and sail in mountainous ascent,

until the word forever makes sense to me,

and my enemies fear me, and my friends in that fearfind solace;

then free men will turntheir faces toward mine,as I face theirs,

and soul will save us, as it trips our obstructors.

The beds of our friendship are rich with it, planted by the river of affection, and fixed like a seal in wax, like graven gold in the windowed dome of the temple.

May YAH be with you as you love, and your soul which He loves be delivered,